


Alan

by AskAStupidQuestion



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Describing a corpse for a paragraph, Dinner, Fainting, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Male!Alana Bloom, Oblivious Will Graham, Off-Screen Murder, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Hannibal, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Therapy, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-04-14 01:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14125221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AskAStupidQuestion/pseuds/AskAStupidQuestion
Summary: At an appointment Will hints at a new infatuation with Dr Alan Bloom. This does not go down very well with Hannibal.AKA Three and a half times Hannibal was very jealous, and one time he was very very smug.





	1. The Appointment

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a prompt on tumblr (I'll try and find the exact one) that I loved too much to let go. Now its my first non series fic!
> 
> Disclaimer: no editing yet, and I will update the tags/ rating as I go! You may see some minor changes if/when I edit this! 
> 
> Please leave kudos/comments, constructive advice is always welcome!!

As a person not prone to regret, it was truly something to immediately hate the words that came out of Hannibal’s own mouth when he said it.

“Dr Bloom would be pleased you are making such progress, Will.”

He’s sitting opposite Hannibal in one of the large leather chairs in his office. Even from here, Hannibal can see the slight dilation of Will’s pupils and can notice the way his lungs momentarily stop their expansion when words catch in his throat. He wants to snap his perfectly sharpened pencil in two.

“You think so?” His hand rubs the back of his hair, exposing his neck. Hannibal has to grind his teeth together to stop him from doing anything stupid. “I don’t feel like I’ve made much progress.”

“You’ve come a long way you can’t remember how you started. How are your nightmares recently?”

A pink blush creeps into Will’s cheeks. An interesting development.

“Better, thank you.”

“Do you experience anything else other than night terrors?” Will coughs as Hannibal asks, pink deepens into red.

“Sometimes,” he pauses, fingers fiddling with his intertwined hair, “a few dreams here and there, nothing too bad.”

“Nothing too enjoyable either?” Hannibal presses onwards. He reaps some masochistic pleasure out of it, knowing it would only add to his vast data bank on Will Graham, and yet his chest felt tight at Will’s half ashamed expression.

“I wouldn’t say that. A few were…” he trails off, unable to finish, “more enjoyable than the others.” Will’s voice is barely straining but Hannibal can see the effort he makes with the words.

“How so?” The way Will’s hand comes crashing down on his lap and the squirms as he readjusts himself in the chair gives Hannibal a reassuringly sadistic pleasure. He continues his line of questioning further just to rile him, “Has there been any particular event- real life or otherwise? Perhaps a memory or a specific reoccurrence?” Innocent enough questions if you didn’t see the tension underneath.

“No,” Will hastens to correct, “nothing like that, each time was different. A different situation I mean.” He remedies himself when Hannibal’s head tilts enquiringly.

“These dreams, were the situations familiar?”

“The places they were yes, but not the situation.” Hannibal can see a small bulge of a vein in Will’s neck where he’s trying to stop himself talking too much. Hannibal would soon fix that.

“What about the people, familiar too?”

“Yes.” He answers curtly. Hannibal takes his time writing his notes, lavishes in the words and the way the letters join in precise detail and the way Will looks down at his toes of his crossed feet in front of him as if they’re the most interesting thing in the world right now, steadfastly ignoring Hannibal and the sound of scribbled pencil on fine paper.

“An old friend maybe?” He sounds sincere enough in his interest to mask how deeply he wanted, needed even, to know. Curiosity was the wrong word for it, this was a perverted fascination of the like. Perverted further by the knowledge that these dreams must have been intimate, at least in a way Will had never been before.

The way Will tilted his head gave away the rest of his little game. Of course they were familiar. Hannibal doubted Will would have had the time or ability to let someone that close to him lately, enough to dream of them. He mentally runs through the list of all Will’s associates. Price? No, too menial and oddball. Zeller? No, and for the same reasons. Beverly Katz perhaps, but Hannibal knew Will would not be nearly as embarrassed if it was a woman appearing in his dreams. Jack was another option but even Hannibal cringed at that. Besides, happily married FBI bosses don’t tend to go around appearing in the joyous dreams of hallucinating profiler.

So out of Will’s steadily narrowing circle that left- ah. That left Dr Alan Bloom. A psychiatrist just like Hannibal, if a little less well-known if he would admit it. He also lectured at the FBI but Hannibal couldn’t see why with their already full programme, not that Will minded. He knew they often had lunch together when they could, both squeezing in to Will’s tiny office without the time to go out. Hannibal knows in that situation he would have made the time if he cared that much, especially considering Alan has been trying to court Will for god knows how long (1 year and 4 months precisely the last time Hannibal made count). He would’ve hoped Will lasted longer before succumbing to the man. It takes effort to unclench his locked jaw. His dentist would surely say something about the wear on his molars.

“Well then things certainly have improved.” He smiles sardonically, not that Will can tell or is even bothered. “A small celebration perhaps?”

Will laughs while Hannibal tries his utmost to not feel affronted.

“I don’t think so, although Dr Bloom will be waiting for me when I get back to the office. We both need a meal out. I’ll give him your good wishes.”

“Please do.” He grits out behind his smiling teeth. One day, when Will has recovered and won’t shatter from the loss, Hannibal will sink his blade into Dr Bloom and then his teeth.

He ushers will to the door before he can notice the splintering of the cracked pencil in Hannibal’s fist.


	2. The Work Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not edited but lets get this show on the road!

It happens that Hannibal also gets his chance at a well-deserved meal out at a work dinner next week. They go to Luigi’s up town and is more pleasant than Hannibal had feared. The Italian restaurant is tucked away from the main roads so that on the top floor you could see the city glimmering down below without the bustle and noise of whizzing traffic. All the usual circle was present, with a few minor additions to congratulate particularly exemplary rookies and the like.

Hannibal arrives early, dressed in his favourite red three-piece and a dark tie to accentuate the long curve of his neck downwards to his chest and lower. His crisp shirt is tight and Hannibal had almost changed it for a more comfortable fit but had changed his mind at the last minute, whisking out the front door before he could deliberate further. His oxfords shine in the darkness as he makes his way to the top floor at a brisk pace. He doesn’t bother thinking too hard about the reason for his quick journey.

Will is already sitting there when Hannibal arrives at the table. He’s dressed more formally than usual, even going so far as a new tie. Hannibal recognises the suit as one of the smartest pieces Will owns and tries not to feel too smug that they both had made an effort. He’s wrapped up in conversation with the sole other person at the table so that Will can’t see Hannibal’s slow approach as he soaks in the view. He’s almost smiling until he spots the companion next to Will. This time it’s not even Dr Bloom. Somehow a smiling Italian waiter, looking all too gaudy in his embroidered apron and a dyed blonde mess of hair, has managed to wheedle his way next to Will and now appears to be having an amicable _chat_.

No one else is at the table, not even another soul on the top floor. A primal thought whispers that he could impale the man with a butter knife now without much trouble.

“Good evening Will,” Hannibal greets him. The waiter has the good sense to get up from his chair and offer them drinks then. Hannibal orders two glasses of their best red before Will can get a word out and the waiter, Lucas, his name badge proudly announces, slinks off downstairs.

“Good evening Dr Lecter, I thought I would be the only one for some time.”

“Not at all, I would’ve come sooner if I had known.” Hannibal pulls out the chair opposite Will. They’re quite near the centre of the long table. If Hannibal had his choice he would’ve had them sat at the end closest to the floor to ceiling windows that led to a balcony- far more intimate. He sighs inwardly that their current seating plan would have to do.

“You wouldn’t have to do that, seems a bit above and beyond your call.” Assures Will.

“I would want to.” Replies Hannibal easily.

Lucas comes back with a bottle in hand, just in time to spoil the moment. He hands the man his card to pay for the bottle before the others can arrive. It’s the least he can do for Will who has been patiently waiting for company. He makes a mental note to arrive sooner next time, wondering exactly how early Will had been.

Dr Bloom is the next to arrive, of course he was, before Hannibal could pick Will’s delicious brain any further. He slides into the chair next to the left of Will, edging their conversation towards the end of the table. Hannibal must give him some credit for his plan, albeit unoriginal. Alan wears a far plainer navy woollen suit that looks far too scratchy to be comfortable, one might go as far as to call it _boring_. At least it fits his thin frame, such a small waste but a long body can be hard to tailor for but it’s made somewhat elegantly, suiting the cut of his cheekbones. His dark hair is smoothed back in a sleek quiff with a gel that clogs Hannibal’s nose, a little more wax than class. Hannibal almost laughs when a few of the strands come loose from his childish waffle, but then Will reaches up, eyes locked on Bloom’s, to smooth it behind his ear again and Hannibal has to remind himself to breath. In. Out. Slow and deep, trying to still the vein in he can feel hammering in his neck.

The room slowly fills with ambient chatter as the rest arrive one by one, filling up the empty table. They are all well immersed in pleasantries by the time the waiter makes it up the stairs again.

“From earlier, sir.” He hands back Hannibal’s card finally with a saccharine smile; he can smell the sweat from the man’s hand on it.

“Treating yourself Dr Lecter? I thought this was all under the FBI budget?” Dr Bloom enquires sweetly. His teeth are ghostly white, all sitting straight like perfect soldiers in a line. How American.

“I thought Will was the one deserving of a treat for being so patient.” He flashes his teeth back.

“Patient with putting up with you? Maybe.” He laughs to himself.

Will smiles in return, raising his glass to his lips. “Careful, Alan, there’s only so much professional psychoanalysing I can keep up with this time of night.” Hannibal feels the folds in his forehead as his eyebrows crease minutely into a frown. He knew Will and Dr Bloom were familiar friends but he’d never heard Will call him Alan before, at least not in a professional setting, it seemed… odd. Too unremarkable. You can’t have an arch rival called Alan.

But apparently you can have an arch rival called Lucas instead. The waiter has his left hand on Will’s shoulder as he takes their orders, only removing it to scribble down quick notes before replacing it. Meanwhile, Dr Bloom has moved closer to Will, leaning into him like a cat needing attention; hardly the claim staking that Hannibal would have opted for.

Clearly Hannibal wasn’t the only one feeling edgy.

When they’re done the waiter’s hands still linger, trailing off Will’s shoulder as he sidles downstairs again, hips swinging. Christ, he’s barely matured, more boy than man in too long limbs and with far too little experience in his own body. Was that really what Will went for?

Dr Bloom sheds his jacket once the food has arrived, excusing himself. Will’s eyes track up and down the lines of the plain white shirt, pausing at the bicep where he itches at the muscle. Who knew what breadth of muscle clung on to that thin frame- he would make a rather glorious kebab.

“May I recommend something less scratching next time?” Hannibal allows himself a small smirk.

“Only if you’re as willing to buy me a suit as you are to buy Will a drink.” Bloom flashes back.

“That’s a necessity that really would have to come out of the FBI’s next budget.” Even Price and Zeller, catching on to the back of the conversation, chortle at this but Will’s small smile is his true prize here. He counts it as a victory.

 

As Hannibal leaves that night, Will’s favourite waiter opening the door for their party, he doesn’t bother taking a business card. He allows himself one last glance at the boyish face. Tonight, he knows exactly the ingredients he’s looking for.


	3. The Lab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really glad so many people are enjoying this! I hope you like the new chapter! (Note: tags have been updated- little bit of a corpse description + some fainting (I don't think it's too graphic but don't trust me))  
> Also I'm thinking about making this 5 chapters instead of 4 depending on how much time I have?!
> 
> As usual I haven't edited this properly yet but I've read it through a couple times so pfffftt that's enough, right?

It’s an entire week before the body is discovered, mutilated beyond recognition, and left hand chopped off. They don’t recover the hand but the marks around the wrist and the pattern of torn flesh suggests that the bone was broken first and left to bleed out before being ripped apart, possibly with the help of a blade they haven’t yet identified. It’s an otherworldly change from the precise mechanism of the Ripper. Will doesn’t know whether to be thankful or cry for help now there’s another one at it.

It’s Beverley who first notices the similarities. There’s a smattering of blonde hair on the arms, or what’s left of them, and she manages to find hair on his head to match. They don’t nearly have the time or resources to solely dedicate to reconstruct his face but from what she can tell he was fairly young. Zeller points out that one of the wisdom teeth hasn’t come through either. At one point they do have to quickly double check it is male- the scarring is so great on the body it’s more a sliced baguette than a corpse, but yes, Zeller confirms her suspicions and quickly pulls the sheet back over again. Both testicles were missing.

Will gets there in the afternoon.

“Have you identified the body yet?” He asks first.

“We haven’t had an exact match but we do have some things to help us narrow it down. Male, under 21, possibly younger but still almost six feet.  Blonde hair on both his head and body, clearly Caucasian.” Beverly helpfully supplies.

Zeller takes this as his moment to jump in. “Cause of death? We think it was mostly blood loss, could’ve passed out first but difficult to tell. The blood has had time to stain into the skin but most of its dried now so I’m thinking it was at least a few days ago now. You can see the haemorrhaging on his limbs but its noticeably only his left hand that’s missing. Oh, and the testicles.” He makes a face. “A trophy maybe?”

Will listens silently, information sinking in. “Any missing person’s report that match up just yet? I don’t think we’re getting much here, not without an ID at least.”

“Unfortunately, nothing new so far. Dr Bloom and Dr Lecter are going to be visiting soon, to rule out some psychological questions Jack has, including the option of temporary insanity and he did this to himself.”

“But the hand?” Will asks, “clearly you can’t bleed yourself dry and then somehow hide a missing hand without first moving from the spot. Actually, where was he found?”

Zeller tilts his head non-committedly, “one of the main roads just outside Baltimore, some poor lady rung in this morning, said she thought it was a road kill or something.”

“That’s _some_ road kill.” Beverley comments, making notes on her clipboard. They’ve got a long day ahead of them and they can’t afford to skip out on the details. She’s just finished the section on time of death when Lecter arrives, shortly followed by Bloom, both dressed smartly in expensive blazers. They have contrasting colognes- Dr Bloom’s is just like his name, something lighter and fresh, still youthful in his mid-thirties. Meanwhile Dr Lecter’s is darker, headier in the sterile lab, trying to mask the other. The resulting scent is a mishmash, but by no means unpleasant. Bloody rich psychiatrists, she almost rolls her eyes.

“Good afternoon.” Hannibal nods.

“Doctors, any ideas? We’re getting stretched thin here.” Will begins.           

Dr Bloom is already frowning. “He looks familiar-”

“Been socializing with corpses now Dr Bloom?”

He didn’t bother replying but leant further to inspect the lacerations on its face.

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous but I have a suspicion.” He straightened back up. “Do we have the number for the restaurant, the one last week I mean.”

“What?” Beverley began, “I mean yeah but why? Surely-”

“I think we need to call them. As soon as possible. I just want to make sure we’ve covered all our options here.” He spins out of the room, hands in pockets, presumably on his way to Jack’s office.

“Hannibal? You think Dr Bloom could be right about this?” Will looks to him. His eyes are wider than normal, hair astray from the amount of times he’s run his hand through it. Hannibal barely resists the temptation to smooth it down himself.

“Quite likely, although it’d be wise not to make many assumptions before Dr Bloom gets confirmation.”

Will’s fair skin is paling rapidly. He can hear how his breathing becomes unregulated, derailing into small bursts of pants and periods of nothing whilst he tries to regain control of it again. There’s sebum and oily sweat seeping out of his pores from his under arms and neck, salty on Hannibal’s tongue as he opens to speak.

“Are there chairs whilst we wait?” Hannibal enquires. Will is too proud to ask for help on his own so it’s the least Hannibal can do to make sure he’s comfortable; there’s one by the desk for Beverley but she’s not using it.

“I prefer to stand.” Manages Will from clenched teeth. “I’m not feeling well,” He spins around, looking for a bin, but it just worsens his churning stomach. The stench of dried blood and flesh fill his nostrils above the cologne so it smells like death and opulence, festering rot and indulgence as red and black intertwine.

He makes a step towards Will, Beverley and Brian still watching like they’re trapped behind glass. He jumps at the hand on his shoulder

“Look at me.” He tries to concentrate Will’s focus away from the corpse that he stares at over Hannibal’s shoulder. His eyes keep flitting between Hannibal’s and the half-covered body behind him. “What do you need Will,”

“I don’t, I don’t-”

He shakes violently. Hannibal reaches out his hand to steady him but he tenses under the touch. He can feel Will burning up even over the baggy layers of clothes he insists on wearing in the cold lab.

If Dr Bloom is right, and it really is him, it really is the waiter from the restaurant, Will doesn’t know what to do. Can’t think about how close he was to the death. Can you really just call this coincidence? Was it something else entirely? His head spins with the possibilities. Who bothers killing waiters, restaurants get bad reviews all the time but no one _kills_ them for it. There’s something in the distance, something unreachable in his mind, that connects it all but whatever it is he can’t seem to grasp it. It shifts from one place to the next, like a dream that never fully materialises into a nightmare. He can’t think. Can’t _breathe_. The rooms too hot and too cold all at once. The walls warp in on themselves, the white tarnishing into black. The red under the cloth spreads out, spiralling towards Will, snatching onto his ankles with sharp claws just about to reach up and slash his throat, slash his arm like the corpse.

When he faints, he falls backwards.

 

Hannibal has to lunge out to catch him, only just making it before his head crashes into the ground. Instead, he catches onto Will’s arms, wrenching him into his chest. His legs crumple underneath them sending them both onto the floor. It’s a good thing Hannibal is cradling Will’s head because his knuckles jar against the hard tiles, leaving them bruised and bloodied.

Zeller’s already out the room, looking for the stashed first aid kit somewhere whilst Beverley kneels to help.

“It’s okay I’ve got him,” Hannibal assures her, holding Will into his chest. They’ve never been so close before. Pressed against him, he can smell the nausea washing over him, the way his shampoo hasn’t quite washed off the scent of dog clinging to his body. He buries his hand in his hair, stroking through it.

“Come on Will, come back to us.” He murmurs closely. Although he half wishes the opposite- the longer Will stayed like this, the longer Hannibal could remain clasped to him without arousing any rumours, at least he has his back to the door and the halls beyond but Will is too tall to hide entirely.

He’s not as young as he used to be and Hannibal’s knees begin to ache where they’re pressed into the unforgiving tiles but not even the ache in his knees or the stiffness in his shoulders can stop him from curling around Will. His head rests on his shoulder, supported by Hannibal’s hand whilst his other arm wraps around his back, the same way you might carry a new born. Alas, he’s a grown man that’s much heavier than he lets on, making this all the more difficult but he’s not ready to let go just yet, softly calling Will back into consciousness.

 

His resolve only strengthens at the sound of Alan clipping back around the corner.

“I knew I was right! Beverley what’s- Will!” He hurries, breaking into a jog. He scuttles around to face Hannibal, falling dramatically to his knees and probably bruising them more than necessary. Fool.

“Give him here,” He motions, “we should check his pulse, what’s his temperature like?” His sweaty hands skirt over Will’s forehead.

“He’s fine, Ms Katz here has been more than capable of performing that herself.” He nods his thanks to her as she slowly gets to her feet, sensing this is not her fight. She carts the body away, closing the door quietly on her way out. Hannibal almost wishes she left it- it would be better company than the present situation.

“You should be looking out for him more,” he tuts in dismay, “especially after all that’s happened.” He begins to stroke Will’s cheek, blue eyes watching him closely. It feels like an intrusion.

“May I remind you it was your decision to leave.” He grits out.

“Look, at least let me hold him,” Bloom ignores him completely, “its surely beginning to get to you now- how long has he been like this?” It’s a slight against his age he knows. Other than that Dr Bloom has made himself almost identical to Hannibal’s practises- never wore a three piece in his life till Hannibal had joined (it definitely showed) and all of a sudden has developed a taste for the finer arts. They’re both well off psychiatrists but Hannibal’s the one with more experience, more notoriety in his field, why should Will be looking at Bloom at all?

Alan continues, “this isn’t like you Hannibal, I expected you at least to know how to deal with this professionally even if I can tell you’ve never been the caring type. I can take it from here.”

He reigns himself in with a deep breath. It’s only the reassurance of Will in his arms that stops him gutting him right there and having done with it. “I appreciate the gesture, Dr Bloom, but Will should be with us in a few moments: we have nothing to worry about.”

“Come on Lecter, it’s not really your place to decide that.”

“I’m his _psychiatrist_.”

“I’m his friend.” Bloom all but snarls back, face snapping to look Hannibal in the eye.

 

“Ah, Alan?” A small voice below pants out.

Hannibal fights to keep his fingers from clenching into Will’s skin. Could he not escape Bloom anywhere? He manages to tilt Will’s head towards his own, he’ll be damned if Bloom’s the first person Will sees when he wakes. His eyes are barely open and they still look glazed but slowly Will’s conscious is seeping back into him. He’ll probably be hazy for a while but at least Hannibal can enjoy the view.

“Hannibal?”

“Glad to see your back, Will.” He smiles.

Will groans. “Remind me how this happened again?”

“Trying to ID a body, although we got there in the end.” Interjects Alan before he has the chance to speak.

“I thought you left?” Will squints at him.

“Momentarily.” He covers with a smile.

Hannibal’s too busy savouring the few minutes left he has to realise when Alan outstretches his arms.

“Right, well, time to stop babying him.” Alan reaches for Will’s hand, placing his own arm around his back and tries hoisting him up from the floor like a would-be action hero. Hannibal takes small pleasure in the way his teeth grit and shoulders strain, trying to stop his arms from giving out. Some hero.

“Stop, it hurts!”

Hannibal grabs at the desk chair and pulls it out in time for Alan to place Will unceremoniously down onto it.

“Sorry,” Bloom has the decency to look contrite. “Feeling any better?”

“A bit, thank you.” Will nods but immediately clutches at his head, “Got any pain killers nearby?”

“Oh, yes, of course, I’ll just have a look.” Dr Bloom flushes, backing away from the room and shuts the door heavily as he leaves.

 

“How long was I out?” He sighs.

“A few minutes, if that. You’re getting a lot better.”

“It must be all the practise I’ve had it.”

Hannibal smiles warmly at him. “Practised enough to faint in front of someone who can catch you but not experienced enough to do so somewhere without a hard floor.”

Will winces at the words, phantom pain aching in the back of his skull.

“It’s a good thing you’re a professional then. Looks like I was in good hands.” He jokes.

 

Yes, Hannibal thinks, you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer* I've never fainted before so I don't know what it's like, most of this is just me imagining what I think it would be like so it's probably not that accurate. Apologies to anyone who has gone through this and knows what it's actually like.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the read!


	4. The Dinner Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so fair warning, this hasn't yet been edited so if you spot a mistake feel free to point it out (I'm really hoping there won't be though!) 
> 
> Sorry this took so long to finish, I hope it's been worth the wait!

Hannibal bides his time for several weeks after that, barely catching glimpses of Will as he rushes from lecture to lecture. After Will’s revelation that his mental health may not be so bad any more, their therapy sessions are becoming less frequent, much to Hannibal’s distaste. It vexes him even more that whilst their own communication had all but ceased, he spotted Will and Dr Bloom together more than ever before. Dr Bloom’s few light touch on Will’s shoulder during a case became sly arms around the back of his chair after a long day at the office, sending Hannibal reeling with jealousy. Ugly, raging, jealousy that Hannibal couldn’t deny any longer.

But he was never a man to sit in the corner and mope. He didn’t plan on losing out to Dr Bloom after all he had done. With this in mind, when he next came home to his kitchen, Hannibal flicked to an old Italian recipe he had been meaning to try out. If Hannibal had to fight for Will’s affections then he may as well do it with what he does best. A dinner party.

 

\--

 

The invitations are sent out at the end of the month, just after wrapping up the most recent case and waiting an appropriate number of days to let the meat marinate in the chianti sauce he had prepared. He could’ve skipped out on Alan’s invite but he was confident enough in his ability to charm. Let Alan come, Hannibal thinks, let him come and see when Will chooses Hannibal over this flouncy imposter.

There’s twenty invited, not including Hannibal himself, which means that when they sit down at the long dinner table that’s been extended to accommodate them all, he can sit at the head of the table with Will on his right and keep an eye on Dr Bloom whom he hopes, for Alan’s sake, will keep his distance.

He employs his usual staff on the day, busily preparing the kitchen for the coming guests. He makes sure his dessert chef specialises in patisseries- he’s stolen the recipe for Will’s favourite brandy snaps but won’t have time to make them himself. It’s a pity really. He toys with the idea of feeding them carefully to Will, making sure Will has enough time to bite down and savour their sweetness and how Hannibal’s fingers might catch on the inside of his mouth as he sucks the last of the cream off. Perhaps a small swirl of his tongue to catch the last drop around Hannibal’s fingers. He cuts the daydream off before it can go any further. He’ll have to supervise the dessert carefully, and if the brandy snaps end up looking a bit more phallic than necessary? Well that’s hardly Hannibal’s fault.

Before he notices the time pass, the clock is suddenly at 7pm and all the hors d’oeuvres, along with the main meats are perfected. Hannibal goes to the dining room to make the finishing touches, trusting his staff with the rest of the meal.  He arranges the flowers on the mantel piece for what seems the third time in half an hour but they never seem to look right to him. They sit in a crystal vase, completely transparent so that you can see their bare stems in the water. He’d picked each bud carefully, starting with twenty-one deep crimson roses, for _love_ and _sorrow,_ as well as vivid red carnations. Small sprigs of white yarrow stood out between them, declaring _everlasting love_. Then tucked between them all, a few snowdrop stems for _death_ and _hope_ and _promise_ for tonight.

 

As he’d hoped, Will is the first to arrive, bottle in hand of something dark and sweet. He’s donned his best suit- Hannibal knows the one- that’s dark navy, almost black, carving out a deep V on his chest slowly drawing Hannibal’s attention downwards and elsewhere. He snaps his eyes back up to meet Will’s own which have darkened in the evening light.

 “Come on in Will, I thought you might be early.” He beckons him in, leading them into the kitchen.

“Not too early I hope?”

“Not at all, I would say this was perfect timing.” He smiled warmly at Will before turning to slide the bottle into the wine rack behind him. The kitchen hands work around them as they lean on the marble counter top.

“What’s on the menu for tonight Dr Lecter?” Will asks with a quirk of his lips.

 _You_ , he almost says before he stops himself. “Italian skewed pork among other things.”

“I can’t wait,” Will smiles politely.

\--

It’s late in the evening and for his usual standards, Hannibal’s dinner party has gone well, exquisitely well. He tops up everyone’s wine and plies them with empty sweet talk until most of the guests slowly filter out with their thanks and apologies. He had made sure Will was close by him when they had gone to start their meal, guiding him with a gentle touch on his shoulder without sparing a glance for Alan. Luckily, for his own sake, Alan had taken the hint, or was too stupid to bother, and sat a reassuring distance from Will and Hannibal.

After four courses they had finally risen, listening to the sweet lull of classical music on the gramophone. Jack and Bella had danced slowly, swaying from side to side in that half formed American way that couples did at small gatherings. He’d kept a watchful eye on Alan who seemed to advance further the longer the music was on. When he asked Will to dance Hannibal had to set his glass aside. It would be hard to explain to his guests why he had the sudden urge to crush it in his fist. Will’s cheeks blushed wine red but laughed, saying something Hannibal didn’t quite catch above his guests eager chattering. Dr Bloom looked suitably affronted in a way anyone else might have missed. He took this as his cue to take Will aside with a new glass poured for him, only to be stolen by Bella who intercepted him near the arrangement of hors d’oeuvres, allowing Will to sidle off, still tinged red.

Now it seems to be just the two of them left. Hannibal had sent his staff away after the last course, duly thanking them for their efforts. The record on the gramophone is winding to an end as he makes his way back to where Will is standing.

“Enjoy yourself?” He asked.

“More so than I thought,”

“I would’ve understood if you declined my invitation, Will.” Disappointed yes, but understood all the same.

“It was good for me, I think. I haven’t had the occasion to get this dressed up in a while, or be so,” he gestures to the scene around them, “lavish.”

Hannibal chuckles back at him. “I’m glad you came.” He places his hand warmly on Will’s arm, just below the elbow. He didn’t realise he was so close.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something, Will,” Now or never.

“Yes? It’s nothing serious, is it?” The way Will’s face suddenly fell caused a soft rush of affection for him.

“Nothing to worry about, but it’s something that kept coming to my mind.” His thumb strokes over the fabric of Will’s suit. Back and forth, back and forth, grounding himself. “Would you-”

Will’s eyes suddenly go wide and glass shatters between them.

“Dr Bloom?!” Will almost shouts. Dr Bloom has all but flung himself at Hannibal, glass of Chianti smashed between their bodies where Alan didn’t manage to stretch his arm out in time. They land on the floor heavily. Dr Bloom is a crushing weight for his size and Hannibal feels no guilt in shoving him off as violently and aggressively as he can. He gets to his feet, glaring at the man who is still flat on his back. It would be so easy to kick him, crush his throat under his perfectly polished oxfords. The feeling of him grappling at his leg in desperation like the animal he was.

“Hannibal? Are you okay?” Will looks Hannibal up and down, concern written across his face. He grips Hannibal with both his hands to steady him even though he doesn’t need it.

“Just a little bruised but I’m more concerned why you’re still in my house Dr Bloom.” He spits the words at the man on the floor. There’s a ripple in the rug where Dr Bloom must’ve tripped but given the pristine way Hannibal keeps his house it was undoubtedly Bloom’s own blithering fault.

Alan’s hand is cut where he’d been holding the bulb of the glass in his palm. _Should have held it by the stem_ , is all Hannibal can think. That is the _correct_ way after all. He doesn’t seem to notice the bleeding though and clambers to his feet, palm to the ground as he gets himself up and smears blood into the carpet. Hannibal feels it’s not going to be the last of blood on his furnishings tonight.

When Hannibal looks back down at himself he can see the red wine staining through the front of his jacket and right through his waistcoat, creating blotchy patches on the pristine fabric. That’s it. Alan has gone hideously far out of his depth, it was time he paid the price. Hannibal can feel the damp seep into his chest as the wine bleeds into his shirt and he’s never been so angry in his life.

“Hannibal, oh gosh, I’m so sorry, my deepest apologies, I can’t-”

“Enough!”

Hannibal struggles to keep his composure. Just a few more minutes till Will is out the door. A few more minutes and it will be Dr Bloom’s blood joining the ugly stains on his suit. In for a penny, in for a pound, he reasons.

“Let me just-” Dr Bloom reaches forward, tissue in hand, only to smear the stain deeper. Hannibal’s dentist will have a word with him later about grinding his teeth but there’s only so much he can do before he chokes Alan to death.

Dr Bloom sways as he stands, pupils dangerously dilated. What idiot gets drunk on wine at a dinner party? It’s not some god forsaken teenage house party although Dr Bloom clearly has the same mental age of such participants.

Will reaches forward trying to grab Alan’s hand to inspect it but he sways backward instead, giggling.

Hannibal slaps him hard.

The sound claps in the air like thunder in silence. Alan stumbles backwards with the force of it, palm to his quickly reddening cheek. There’ll be a palm sized bruise there tomorrow.

“Pull yourself together Dr Bloom!”

There’s a beat of silence as Alan does nothing but look down at the ground. There’s a perfectly adequate knife in the kitchen but his hands will do. Hannibal stalks towards Dr Bloom carefully, hands beginning to reach up to his throat-

“Hannibal!” Will stands behind him, brow furrowed. Hannibal takes a breath. To Will this is just a drunken mistake, nothing purposeful, an anomaly in a trend of good behaviour. Hannibal knows this is not true. Not in the slightest. But he steps back anyway, allowing Will to guide him. He places a hand on his shoulder, as if to earth him.

“Get out of my house.”

Miraculously Alan turns without thought, making heavy footsteps out to the hall. Hannibal follows him, just to be sure.

“You can’t let him drive like that- he’s still bleeding.” Will grits out behind him, equally full of disdain.

“I’m going to change my shirt. Call him a cab if you want.” He slams the front door as soon as Dr Bloom is out of the way, marching up the stairs to the blissful peace of his bedroom. He hears Will reach for his phone and follow Bloom outside before he can start the car and drive himself to death. Pity.

He quickly removes his clothes, not wanting to drip the rest of the wine onto the carpet too. The jacket comes off first, then he quickly unbuttons the waistcoat to join it in the laundry basket. He sighs through his nose when he takes off his shirt, still looking down at the damage Dr Bloom has done. He’ll never wear the suit again but if Dr Bloom had any sense he’d offer to have it cleaned at the very least. He thumbs over the silk, feeling the smoothness in his hands. He’d worn it for a reason, soft enough to welcome touch, to imperceptibly draw Will closer and into his arms. The buttons shine in the soft light like small stars in a sea of red. He carefully peels it off him and into the basket it goes. He feels like a fool for trying so hard and more for letting Dr Bloom snap his temper. He will be better than that next time, if he is lucky enough to be granted one. 

He takes his shoes off too so that he’s just in his suit trousers. Those will have to go to but he needs to find another shirt first, preferably one to compliment the trousers but he doubts fashion will be able to salvage the evening. Hannibal is reaching round for his drawers when there’s a flicker of movement from the corner of his vision. He turns, and takes a short breath.

Will stands in the open doorway to his bedroom, eyes dark.

They roam up and down the bare expanse of skin exposed to him, drinking him in. Will’s jacket is long gone, white sleeves rolled up to his elbow whilst Hannibal remains bare chested.

Hannibal straightens himself up stepping forward.

Will jerks back, breath short. But still he lets Hannibal slowly advance towards him.

“I trust you saw Bloom gone.” Hannibal’s tongue rolls over the smooth words.

Will nodded, eyes still flickering. He darts his tongue out to wet his lip and Hannibal tracks the movement. Will allows him to step forward again, unmoving.

“So now it truly is just us?” Will asks tentatively.

“Just us.” Hannibal’s smile is lecherous.

He traces Will’s palm in his, wondering when he had moved so close. He can feel Will’s warm breath against his bare chest, achingly aware of the small gap between them. Will still gives no acknowledgement of Hannibal’s hand in his and his wandering eyes are now disappointingly fixed on Hannibal’s own. They remind him of the sea, somewhere between pale green and deep blue like the waves of two oceans colliding.

“The two of us.” Will repeats almost breathlessly.

“Before we got interrupted, I had something to confess to you Will,” he begins, readying himself once more.

Will is on him before the words come out of his mouth. Hands reach up to his shoulders, clasping them together so they join all the way from their hips to their chests and their _mouths_. They’re kissing. Deep and passionate and fervently, like the chance will never come again. _At last_. He wraps his arms around Will in return, holding him tight to his chest as they gasp for breath between kisses.

He feels his body melt into Will’s warm touch, desperate to be held against his skin. He twists the fabric of his shirt in his hand, cursing at it until the top buttons fly open exposing his pale chest.

Their teeth almost clash, mouths pressing harder with every passionate kiss. He’s faintly aware his lip may be split, or Will’s, but it just makes them both burn harder with desire.

Will’s shirt drops to the ground. They break away from their kiss just enough so that when Hannibal looks down he can see their chests heaving together, pressed close and the smooth skin of Will’s shoulder tantalising him.

Will whines as Hannibal bites into the crevice between his neck and shoulder. He nips at his neck until he sees a dark red bruise begin to blossom and doesn’t let up until his neck is littered with them like roses in the snow.

Will can feel sensation of Hannibal’s mouth everywhere on his body as the feeling echoes behind his ears and by his sides, warmth growing in his gut. His hairs stand on end, making his skin prickle with pleasure bordering on too intense. Apart from his mouth, Hannibal’s touch is painfully light, like fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. Will clutches at his shoulders desperately, willing him closer.

He gasps as they pull away, panting, “fuck.”

“Indeed,” Hannibal grins, “but what about Alan?”

Will’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

He quirks an eyebrow back at Will, “you’re not-” he searches for the right word, “involved, are you?”

His nose wrinkles, pulling back further as if the idea disgusted him. “Hannibal, what are you talking about?” It’s Hannibal’s turn to frown this time. Surely Will couldn’t have been that oblivious?

“I was under the impression you were more empathetic to his advances than you were to mine.” He states as flatly as he can.

“His advances? But he knows I like you- and I thought you already did too? But all the questions at the appointment, it felt like you were ridiculing me because of it. I was _distraught_ Hannibal, I tried ignoring how I felt, God it was so painful all those times I could’ve leaned in but stopped myself because I knew how you looked down on me because of it! Hannibal what-”

His lips are caught by Hannibal’s, kissing with renewed vigour.

“So, you’re not together?”

“That’s what you took away from that?” Will half-laughs. “No, of course not.”

“Good.”

Will swears he can here Hannibal whisper something underneath his breath. _All mine_.

He pulls him in again so their lips meet. They stand, swaying slightly in the doorway, and wrapped up in each other for so long Will almost forgets to notice time pass as they kiss. His hands finally reach Hannibal’s belt. He breaks away just enough to smile predatorily at Will, cocking his eyebrow.

“You first,” he demands, reaching for Will. He thumbs over his dusky nipple, making Will arch into his touch.

He quickly pulls Will in by his belt, making light work of the buckle and sending it sliding to the ground with a clatter. Will unfastens the button himself, stepping out of his trousers. They lie abandoned on Hannibal’s plush carpet as he struggles to get Hannibal out of his own suit trousers. His hands are too shaky to work the small zip, huffing in frustration.

“Come on dammit!”

Hannibal presses a kiss to Will’s forehead, calmly undoing them himself. How can he be this collected when he’s only wearing boxers? Admittedly very nice boxers at that and- socks?

As he looks down, Will notices Hannibal’s feet still in his obnoxiously purple socks. “These too,” he smiles, pushing Hannibal inside the door and onto the bed so he can pull off the socks and then his own.

Suddenly, Will looks up at Hannibal sitting above him, realising that he’s on his knees. Hannibal’s eyes seem nothing but black as they drink him in.

He looks beautiful, Hannibal thinks, down on his knees like that. It’s so much more than he’d hoped to imagine. He feels a rush of tenderness in amongst desire.

He reaches out to cup Will’s face with his palm, bending over him slightly so he can whisper down at him lovingly.

“All. Mine.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

“You know, you never did finish your confession in the end,” Will points out playfully. They’re both lounging in the sheets, messy, even after they did their best to change them.

“Will Graham,” Hannibal begins, mock hurt, “would you do me the honour of allowing me to date you?”

“I’ll consider it,” Will smiles, ducking in for another kiss. Hannibal doesn’t have the time to roll his eyes.

 

 

The next morning Hannibal refuses to lend Will a scarf though there are plenty in the cupboard and by his usual proceedings, it’s uncommonly cold enough to warrant one. Instead, he sends a quick email to his secretary making sure his morning appointments are cancelled, insisting on driving Will to the academy himself since Will had originally taken a taxi to the dinner party.

When they arrive, he makes sure they are in full view of Dr Bloom, and a few very alarmed students, when he leans inwards to kiss Will’s parted lips. This is what victory tastes like.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most challenging moment of this was trying to decide whether Hannibal had a laundry bin or a chute or something entirely different. Who knows?  
> Sorry to leave you hanging with the smut, I'm thinking about maybe writing another chapter where it fills the gap in between the scenes. Any thoughts?  
> Comments/ kudos are much appreciated as always! :)  
> Thank you to SingingInTheRaiin, who pointed out that Will's shirt came off twice... oops! This has now been corrected!
> 
> Flower information:  
> http://www.gmct.com.au/media/720750/gmct-information-sheet-_flowers_2.pdf


End file.
